


Spring Awakening

by nihil0



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Flash Fic, M/M, Masturbation, Oswald's POV, Pining, Sexual Fantasy, Swearing, reference to slightly kinky stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 06:25:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11225184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nihil0/pseuds/nihil0
Summary: Ivy's new aphrodisiac potion leads Oswald to some unrestrained thoughts about Edward. (Post-s3).





	Spring Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Gotham or the characters, obviously.  
> Thanks to the amazing LuxeApocalypse for betareading and editing.

Oswald knew that Ivy had been working on a new project, a sort of new and improved version of her infamous perfume. Apparently, she wanted something with a little more “bite” to it. It was still top-secret, she had said. She wanted something fun. At that Oswald had raised an eyebrow, somehow the word “fun” made him mildly apprehensive.

Later that night, Oswald came back from the Lounge in a foul mood. Too much work, too many idiots around, and he always had to handle stuff personally if he wanted the club to run smoothly.

_One last drink before bed_ , he thought. When he came into the large dining room he noticed with irritation that Ivy had left a mess of vials, jars and specimens all over the table. The smell coming from the jars was actually pleasant; maybe he could get some for the club…

But while he was trying to get the bottle, which of course was surrounded by Ivy’s _little witch set_ , Oswald knocked over a vial. It rolled over the edge of the table and smashed on the floor.  Oswald cursed loudly, and peered closer to inspect the damage. The liquid, of a rosy gold color, was emitting a funny-looking vapor. The smell was strong and almost too sweet but good at the same time.  Enticing, even.

In a matter of seconds Oswald realized that something was wrong. He felt too hot, as if he had a fever. He had to hastily loosen his tie and open the first two buttons of his shirt while his heart started racing. His knees weakened and he rushed to sit down to avoid falling over.  

As he sat with his eyes wide in the semi-darkness, he realized that his skin had also become overly sensitive, that every layer of fabric on his body was suddenly _too much_ ; too much heat, too much stimulation. His vision swam for a second; his head flooded with a hundred lascivious thoughts in vivid technicolor.

Oswald groaned, realizing  that Ivy had been working on a damned aphrodisiac bomb and that he had become her first unwilling test subject.

He felt a burning need such as he had never experienced before. Not even when he was an anxious teenager who had to rack his brain to successfully hide his dirty magazines from mother’s all-seeing eyes; not even when Edward was his Chief of Staff and he ended many days of mayoral duty with his hand on his cock and Edward’s name on his lips.

The intensity of that need took his breath away. He felt like a drowning man. It was painful. He couldn’t help thinking about all the touches exchanged between him and Edward, not only the good ones – the hugs and the fleeting caresses –  but more importantly the _bad ones_ – the time Edward had tightened his tie around his neck, those dark eyes full of cold fury, to hurt him, to choke him, or that other time in the Court’s cages, when he had him pressed tight from behind, a hand gripping his chest and the other holding a dull blade to his pulse point.

That memory burned in his brain, he couldn’t stop thinking about how, deep down, it had turned him on, how he had wanted Edward to hold him like that and fuck him, even with that blade against his throat. Edward would have liked it, too; he knew that. He had known it back then, from the way Edward had touched him, possessive and rough.

And he wanted Edward’s hands everywhere; gripping his hips, bruising his thighs, closing around his throat. He wanted those long, slender fingers on his nipples, on his cock, in his mouth and in his ass.

The heat was unbearable. It was the sticky, hazy heat of summers in Gotham, stifling and murky. With shaky hands he opened his shirt and vest, hoping for relief.  It was to no avail; the breathlessness and need remained. He did the same with his trousers, sliding his fumbling hand into his pants and stroking himself. His own skin had never felt so hot and sensitive. It was heaven and hell at the same time.  Every nerve ending on fire, face contorted in frenzied pleasure, every stroke was too much and not enough at the same time.

He couldn’t block out the image of himself naked and hard, laid out like a sacrifice to a pagan god. He felt like he was going crazy; his hand was not enough, it was _never_ going to be enough. He wanted Edward, he wanted to touch his skin, to kiss and bite that long neck, to lick his chest and taste his cock.

More than anything, he wanted to come with Edward; not like this, jerking off alone,  strung out on some weird aphrodisiac herbal concoction. Oswald came, gasping and moaning, cursing his bad luck for wanting something he could never have.

He would not tell Ivy – or anyone else – about it. It would be just another secret of his; one of legions.  

Still gasping for breath, Oswald observed the mess on the table.  Five vials remained. He could always tell Ivy that he had accidentally broken two.

He slipped one into his pocket and headed for his room.


End file.
